Date with a Sheesha (11 page)

I picked up the handset I’d brought with me, and dialled Ethan’s number. He answered after three rings. He sounded a bit tired but happy to hear from me.

“Sounds like you had quite the day,” I said.

“Edda had quite the day. My job was to help her through it, the poor dear.”

“You spoil that woman.”

“At ninety-three, she deserves every bit of it.”

“Do you promise to do the same for me when I’m a dodder-ing old coot, demanding you soften my crackers and give me sex in my wheelchair?”

I heard him guffaw at the other end of the line. “Oooo, I didn’t know this was going to be that kind of phone call. Hold on while I slip off my pajama bottoms.”

“As if you ever wear pajamas to bed.”

“How do you know what I do when you’re not here? For all you know, I could be lying here with cold cream on my face and curlers in my hair just so I can look nice for you.”

“More like overnight bronzer and hair sparkles,” I shot back.

We laughed.

“Speaking of being in bed, does this phone call mean you’re not sharing mine tonight?”

Suddenly my tea and bath seemed much cooler. I wanted to be warm and cuddly next to Ethan.

“How about dinner tomorrow night at my place?” I offered.

“Just you and me.” And my mother over the garage.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured. “Now tell me, are you wearing pajama bottoms?”

The Saskatoon Auto Mall, on the southern outskirts of the city, is a relatively new, multi-dealership, one-stop shop for all things car, 73

F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A

D a t e w i t h a S h e e s h a

truck, or recreational vehicle. I headed out there Tuesday morning after a couple more hours online researching my upcoming travels. The day was bright and shiny. Powerful rays of sun ricocheted off hoods and roofs of all the new and used vehicles, sitting in their lots like row after row of metallic puppies, waiting patiently for a new owner.

I pulled up in the Babamobile, next to the gleaming Good Auto building on Brand Court. From what I could tell, they mostly handled Pontiac and Buick products, as well as the dramatically brutish yet handsome Hummers. I hopped out of the van, and was immediately approached by a salesperson. I had to give the guy credit, strolling the lot on a minus-twenty-five-degrees-Celsius day.

He patted the side of the van as if it were a trusty old steed.

“Time to trade in the old girl?” he asked with a chummy smile.

I frowned. “Ah, no.” Although I dearly wished I could answer in the affirmative. “I’m looking for Darrell Good.”

“Oh sure,” he said. “Both Darrells are inside. Where I’m going to be pretty soon,” he added, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. “Just ask anybody; they can point the one you want out to you.”

I walked into the showroom and fell in love. There, in the centre of the room, sunlight lovingly caressing its curves, was a jaunty, two-seater convertible. It was a rich, dark green, the kind I’ve always associated with MG roadsters racing through the English countryside. I was drawn to it like sand to ocean. Like gin to tonic.

Like cheese to crackers.

“Gotta love that curvaceous body,” came a man’s voice behind me. I’d smelled his heavy Tom Ford cologne first. “A powerful front-mounted engine, rear-wheel drive, fully independent suspension, big wheels and tires, and a close-to-perfect weight balance. She’s got a one-seven-seven-horsepower inline-four, zero to sixty in eight seconds.”

None of that meant a thing to me. My relationship with cars has little to do with what’s under the hood. Sure, I like something powerful and reliable, that sounds sexy when you turn the key.

But my love came from somewhere more visceral. Every car has 74

F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A

A n t h o ny B i d u l k a

something to say. And this one was screaming: dump the minivan, take me home!

“When the top is dropped, the tunes are up, and you’re on a twisty road, there is nothing like this car,” the guy informed me.

“Except maybe a Miata. But you’re going to like the price of the Solstice much better. We’ve got it in Brazen—metallic orange—

and Cool—metallic silver, too.”

“What’s this colour called?” I asked in a hypnotic monotone.

“Envious.”

Green with envy. Cute.

“I like the green.”

“It’s my favourite, too.”

How’d I know he’d say that? The spell was broken. I turned to face the salesperson. “Actually, I’m looking for Darrell Good, Junior.”

“You found him. I’m Darrell.” He held out his hand. “What can I do for you…?”

“Russell, Russell Quant,” I told him as we shook.

“Oh, you’re Anthony Gatt’s friend. He told me you’d be stopping by.” He glanced at the car. “I guess you’re not really interested in the Solstice then?”

“Interested, yes,” I answered. “In the market? Sadly no.”

He glanced around the showroom as if looking for someone.

“Listen,” he said, holding out one hand in the direction of a glassed-in office at the far end of the room. “Why don’t we talk in my office? Can I get you some coffee, or something else to drink?”

I declined and allowed myself to be herded into the man’s office.

Darrell Good looked pleasant enough. He was exceedingly pale, a little on the too-thin side for my taste, with fine, near-blond hair modestly styled, trendy glasses, and an expensive suit. When we were seated around his office desk, he quickly checked something on his computer screen while I took off my coat and scarf.

After he was finished with the computer, he took another gander around the sales floor before turning his full attention to me.

“I know you’re a private detective, hired by Neil’s father to look into his death,” he said, getting right to business. “But that’s 75

F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A

D a t e w i t h a S h e e s h a

about all I know. Anthony said you’d fill me in on the rest.”

That wasn’t exactly true. I had no intention of filling Darrell in on anything other than what I needed him to know in order to get him to talk to me. And that, it seemed, had already been accomplished. “Yes,” I said with a nod. “I’m leaving for Dubai tomorrow.

I understand from Anthony that you and Neil had been dating?”

“I guess you could call it that,” he said with a head bob, a circumspect look on his face. “It’s more than that, really. Or, it
was
, I guess I should say. We kinda broke up before he left Saskatoon.”

“Kinda?”

“It’s a long story.”

I stayed silent.

Good’s anxious eyes made another hurried search outside his office. Was he checking for unattended customers? Keeping an eye on staff? Or was it something else? “We’d been together a little over a year when Neil got the position in Dubai,” he said when he was done. “I don’t even think he really wanted it at first. But his stepmother pressured him into it. Anyway, after that, things started to go downhill for us. I mean, how could we realistically expect to keep up a relationship without seeing each other for six months? And it wasn’t as if he was going to come home once a month or anything like that. Once he was there, he was staying.

Any time off he had from his responsibilities at the university, he would be using to shop for these carpets they were all so gaga over. The only way we could possibly work was if I went with him. At least for a while. But that wasn’t going to happen.”

“Oh?” I expected Darrell Good to say he’d been scared off by the reputation of the Middle East as being considerably less than gay-friendly. Instead, I heard something quite different.

“No way. My dad would never let that happen.”

I studied Darrell Good’s face closer. Yup, I was right the first time. He was no longer a teenager. Far from it. If I were to guess, he had to be in his mid- to late-twenties. So why was he talking about his father as if he were twelve?

“The Middle East? As a gay man? Visiting another gay man?

Are you kidding me? According to Dad, that was asking for trouble. No way he’d let me go. And, of course, the timing was bad 76

F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A

A n t h o ny B i d u l k a

too. Dad and Mom head to Arizona every fall, until well after Christmas. If I went with Neil, there’d be no one left to look after the business. Dad and Neil even had a big fight about it. But, well, my dad’s never met a fight he doesn’t win—one way or another.

So we broke up. Neil went without me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult for you.” You big wuss.

“Yeah, it was. And now, after what’s happened, Dad is really lording it over me. Him and Mom just got back a couple of weeks ago. He walks around here spending half his time telling me how right he was and all. He doesn’t even care that Neil is dead. All he cares about is being right.”

You must
really
need this job, I thought to myself. Why else would you put up with that kind of abuse?

“Your father and Neil didn’t get along then?”

Good shrugged. “They didn’t really know each other. I mean Neil came to a few family functions, but Dad never spent much time with him. It was just that kind of thing.”

“I understand.” I sort of did. “Darrell, do you know if Neil was at all concerned himself about going to the Middle East because he was gay?” If Pranav Gupta was right about the killing being motivated by homophobia, I wanted to assess if Neil’s own view of the situation could have been a contributing factor.

“He wasn’t scared,” he answered without hesitation. “Not Neil. He was fearless. About most things. He was all excited to go…once the decision was made for him. Like I said, I don’t think it was his idea at first. But he went along with it. He was a good sport that way. And, I suppose, he was interested in all that old historic stuff. He spent a lot of time at work, studying up about old rugs and shit. I didn’t really get it.” He tried a smile. “I don’t even get involved in the pre-owned part of my dad’s business. It’s new cars for me, all the way.”

I smiled back.

After a beat, Good said, “I didn’t want him to go.” Another pause, then, “I actually begged a little,” he admitted. “We had a good thing. I really think I was starting to fall in love with the guy.

We got along great. He was funny. Carefree. A great cook, too. All 77

F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A

D a t e w i t h a S h e e s h a

the things I’m not.

“I certainly couldn’t go. But, y’know, I know now, Neil couldn’t not go. It was complicated. There were so many things going on. It was all about furthering his career, his relationship with his stepmother, self-esteem issues, and lots of other stuff too. But I didn’t think about all that. I was only thinking about us. About me. And I made a big mistake.”

Yum. Admissions of mistakes are like candy to a detective.

“Oh? What mistake was that?”

“I gave him an ultimatum. I told him it was me or the Middle East. That turned into this big dramatic scene. You can guess how it went. And, of course, he picked the Middle East. So we were done. And now he’s dead.”

I heard a catch in Good’s voice. He was trying to be Mr. Tough Guy but not doing too good a job of it. He looked down, swallowed hard, then resumed. “I’m so pissed at him for going. And sad too. And mad that they made him go. It’s crazy, y’know. I just…I just don’t know what to feel. And ever since I heard about Neil, I haven’t been able to sell a car to save my life.”

I saw the other man’s eyes travel to the windows at my back and freeze. This time I had a pretty good idea of what he was looking for: the watchful, disapproving eyes of his father. I turned in my seat. And there he was. Darrell Good, Senior. Although the colouring was the same—blond hair, pale skin—that’s where the father-son resemblance ended. Whereas junior was thin and graceful, senior was big and bulky, like a Saskatchewan Roughriders football player. His nose looked a bit off-kilter, as if it might have been broken a time or two. He wore a pair of khakis and a golf shirt with the Good Auto logo emblazoned across his broad chest. Darrell Good, Senior was at the other side of the showroom, chatting with a customer, but his pale eyes reached into his son’s office with little effort. The look didn’t last long. It didn’t need to. I turned around. Junior’s face was stern and drained of what little colour had been there. The man may have been in his mid-twenties, but he was still a boy.

“When’s the last time you saw or spoke to Neil?” I asked, hoping to pull the guy out of his preoccupation with what his father 78

F639BE36-0B80-4264-BA79-F0E13F235E3A

A n t h o ny B i d u l k a

was thinking.

“Saw? Well, I didn’t even see him off at the airport when he left six months ago. The relationship was over, and the breakup was too fresh and raw for me to even say goodbye. Besides, I was needed here at the shop. We had a big promotion going on.”

Ah, geez.

“But about two months into his stint over there, I got a call from Neil. We started talking again. Before I knew it, we were exchanging emails several times a week.”

My ears were humming. This was good. “What did you talk about in these emails?”

“Oh, everything, nothing. You know how it goes. Neil was really enjoying his work over there. Things were going really well.

I guess he was finding all these old carpets. That excited him. He was particularly excited about this one rug he’d found. He said it was going to shake up the world of rugs.” Good chuckled at that.

“Can you imagine anyone getting excited about some dirty old carpets? But I listened to it all. It was just nice to be in contact with him again. I’d missed him. We even talked about getting back together again. But I didn’t know about that. He never told me so, but I suspected he was seeing someone over there. And hey, that was okay with me. We were broken up. I was kinda seeing someone at the time too.”